


dear nathan,

by hanwritessolo



Series: The Burden We Share [2]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Brotherhood, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22890562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: A box of letters addressed to a dear brother sits unread in Sam's newly-bought apartment in New Orleans.
Relationships: Nathan Drake & Samuel Drake, Nathan Drake/Samuel Drake, Samuel Drake/Original Character(s), Samuel Drake/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Burden We Share [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520453
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	dear nathan,

February 13, 2001

Dear Nathan,

Mom taught us to always write our letters with proper salutations. Finally, here is my attempt to put that into good use as I write to you, and to tell you that I am alive and well. (And I know ‘well’ by prison standards is pretty relative, but I assure you, Nathan, I am surviving better than the rest of them.)

To be quite honest, this would have been my fourth letter to you if Pablo (he’s the first guard they assigned to me who somehow took me in as a charity case) had not been caught. I assume he was caught because I haven’t seen him in three weeks. (And would perfectly explain why I had also been dragged out of my cell a couple of weeks ago to be beaten up into a pulp.) I could only regret putting the poor boy in that situation. He was only nineteen years old.

In any case, apart from the bruises from my recent fuck-up with the guards, I’m glad to tell you that I have finally recovered from the bullet wounds. The surgery—which, as far as surgeries go, fail to qualify to even be called a surgery—was a surprising success, so I’m quite thankful for that, though it took me a good year to fully recuperate. And since the warden considers bed rest and recovering from gunshot wounds and broken legs as another form of slacking off, something he obviously does not tolerate in this godforsaken place, he assigned me to translate some business letters and formal correspondences from English to Spanish so I can be more useful around here. I was expecting he’d take this task away from me after the letter incident, but I guess he finds this task particularly boring for his tastes. I am tempted to propose that he consider hiring multilingual guards next time, but what would I be left to do? And so I keep my mouth shut about that. Because thankfully for him, I enjoy this kind of stuff. He even lets me spend most of my time in the library. It’s weird, it reminds me of that time we spent at Greta’s study translating her notes. That feels like a long time ago now. Anyway, I can't really complain about getting to use my brain from time to time in a place like this.

In other news, the new guard stationed to my cell, Ramón, has been strangely generous that he sneaks out a pen and pads of paper from the library for me. I try to warn him about what happened to the last guy, but this fella is unfazed. He’s an old guy, reminds me of Victor, and he tells me that writing could help me pass the time. Can’t say he’s wrong on that account. Which is why I am now writing letters I know you won’t ever get to read.

I hope you are doing well, little brother. And if by some miracle, this letter reaches you one day, here is something I want you to know: this isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for this. I only blame myself.

Sam

P.S. It is Valentine’s Day tomorrow. I hope you finally get yourself a nice date for once.

* * *

March 4, 2001

Dear Nathan,

I was talking to Ramón again (who, by the way, is really a good guy) and he tells me about his son who is deathly afraid of clowns. I was, of course, sorely reminded of you. And so I hope you don’t mind that we ended up talking about our time in the orphanage and your silly little magic tricks. Also that time at the carnival, the one with the massive red tent where you had been so passionately decided to join the troupe. But don’t worry, I did tell Ramón about your achievements, though. Like your first clean lift. That stunt you pulled in Cartagena. The clever trick you did at Hampton Court Palace.

I’m pretty sure you have a list of new achievements under your belt by this time. Won’t be surprised if you’re on your way unearthing an ancient civilization by now. I could only hope I get to live to hear your stories one day.

Sam

P.S. It’s Jane’s birthday today. I hope you can send her my regards.

* * *

September 16, 2001

Dear Nathan,

The guards have been talking about what happened in New York City. Ramón has been deeply alarmed too, and so I could not help but worry. Things like these do make us think of our family and so I could not help but think of you. I hope you’re in someplace safe, little brother. I hope you’re still alive out there. I hope you still remember me.

Sam

* * *

October 31, 2005

Happy birthday, little brother. I wonder how many more birthdays of yours will I continue to miss.

Sam

* * *

January 31, 2007

Dear Nathan,

I really have nothing to say except I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being there for you. I’m sorry if I was not able to give you a good life. Mom wouldn’t have wanted this for us, but I dragged you into this and I’m sorry. And I hope you could forgive me.

Sam

* * *

May 7, 2009

Dear Nathan,

Things have been less interesting as of late, as Ramón passed away. Cardiac arrest on duty. I’ll miss him and our little chats. He’s always been the one I get to talk to about what my life had been, about you, about Jane. He’s always told me to just write things out to cope, and really, I have nothing else to do here except to read and write and think and forcing myself not to grieve too much about him. Never thought I’d find a friend in a place like this, but I found one in him.

Which made me think: if I ever lost you, or Jane, I don’t think I could bear it. I’d rather die here. I’d rather have the guards beat me to death than going through this life knowing you’re dead.

Sam

* * *

May 8, 2009

Somebody tell me that my brother’s alive please please please please I’m begging you tell me he's alive tell me Jane's alive tell me please that's all I ask

  
  
  


* * *

April 4, 2011

Dear Nathan,

It’s funny how I’m getting news about the outside world from the incessant gossip circulating amongst the guards, and I could not help but hear about an upcoming royal wedding of Prince William. My new cellmate (Hector Alcázar, Panamanian drug lord, can you believe?) can’t seem to stop talking about it, either. Not that the matters of the British royal family ever interested me in any way, but it did get me to think about you. Like, what are the chances that you’re now married, little brother? Or that you’ve finally settled down, even have kids? I’m only left to wonder about these things. But I'm certain you'd make a good husband and father, because as your brother, I know and I have seen how capable you are to love generously, how you always care so much for the people around you. I've always wished you a good life, a better life, and I wish you have finally found it now.

And I only hope I could be there to watch.

Sam


End file.
